


A Tourney in Thorolund

by FanficsbyVe



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficsbyVe/pseuds/FanficsbyVe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone at the Undead Parish, Rhea details her forgotten history with the Chosen Undead. FINISHED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea reveals she knows the Chosen Undead.

Flowers were a rare sight at the end of the world.

Perhaps that was why the Chosen Undead noticed the single white lily, growing at the edge of the graveyard west of Firelink Shrine. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, pushing away the remains of the skeletal adversaries he had just slain. He approached this tiny sign of life, watching it with interest.

How it had managed to grow in this broken, barren world was anybody’s guess. Likely someone once put a handful of these on someone’s grave and a stray seed managed to take root against all the odds. Its existence was a little miracle in itself and it was an even bigger one that he even noticed it.

He realized how odd that was. His memory was mostly a blank slate, but he was quite sure he never particularly cared for flowers. They were plants, with the same emotional value as trees or weeds, only slightly more visually appealing. Still, something about this tiny white lily evoked a strange feeling in him.

Before he fully realized it, he had knelt down in front of it and carefully started to dig it out of the ground. He placed it in a hollow soldier helmet he had taken earlier, with some earth potted all around it in an effort to protect it. He then headed east, taking the elevator up into the Undead Parish.

A smile came upon his face as he looked at the altar. She was still there, just like she said she would be. A small, praying figure in a rundown church; an image beautiful and sad at the same time. At least she was safe now…

Her name was Rhea of Thorolund. A cleric of the Way of White and the youngest daughter of the powerful Thorolund family. In life, that title would have protected her, but even a noble birth meant little when the curse of the Darksign was upon one’s flesh. Now, she was an outcast as much as he was and her failure to return with the Rite of Kindling had left her stranded here, alone and abandoned by all except him.

He couldn’t find it in him to do the same. In fact, he couldn’t even imagine why any of her previous companions had wanted to do so. Despite being from a rich family, Rhea was a kind and polite person. She was never harsh or unpleasant, maintaining propriety and manners even to people she disliked. One had to be a heartless monster to despise her simply because of her lineage. 

He approached, still holding the white lily in his helmet. He was going to give it to her, though he had no idea why he felt compelled to do that. It was an instinct urging him forward, a set of familiar movements that he somehow couldn’t recall. Even so, he went through with it. He approached her and, once he got her attention, he knelt down and offered the flower to her. 

Rhea looked up, clearly confused for a moment. She stared at him and then gazed at the lily. It took her several moments for her to catch on that it was meant as a gift. When she did, she took the helmet from him, managing a small smile.

“It is beautiful, thank you.”

He returned the expression, even though he knew she couldn’t see it with his visor down. He noted how she cradled the flower in her lap and he could tell she was still a little perplexed with his impromptu offering and likely tried to figure out why he had even bothered. Frankly, since he had no idea himself, he just prayed she’d conclude he had simply done it to cheer her up and not some ulterior motive. He’d loathe to lose the trust of one of the few kind, friendly souls he knew here in Lordran.

Just as that thought ran through his mind, he could see her stiffen. Her eyes became fixed on him and her already fair skin turned even paler. She looked like she had seen a ghost and her trembling voice only reflected this.

“C-can…can you take off your helmet? Please?” 

He frowned. Her request struck him as odd. What point was there in showing his face? Still, having recently consumed humanity to look normal and wanting to please her, he obliged. He took off the heavy Elite helmet and put it under his arm, waiting for what she would do next.

As soon as his face became visible, Rhea let out an audible gasp and her expression of shock only became more apparent, to the point it unnerved him. “I-Is something wrong?”

It seemed to take forever before she finally responded. “…M-Marcus?”

The strange name had him frown, and he noted it wasn’t just in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

His response had her flinch. “S-sorry… But are you not…Marcus of Astora? Of the House Trevanion?”

That collection of names, spoken with so much urgency, sparked something deep within the Chosen Undead. A strange image, like a drawing smudged and decaying by age and the elements. It was painful and puzzling to think about and yet, he couldn’t help but do so.

“That name… It seems…familiar…”

His response only seemed to egg her on. “I know I am not mistaken... We have met before. At a tourney back home in Thorolund. We are friends! It is me, Rhea!”

She sounded insistent now. Desperate. He didn’t understand why, but it made his head spin. There was something in his head that responded to what she said. That made it seem plausible. Could it explain why he wanted to bring her a flower so badly? He tried to think of something, to dig into those endless empty layers that now made up his memory, but to no avail.

“Have you…forgotten about me?”

Never before had he heard her sound so sad, not even when she lay shivering and afraid at the bottom of the Tombs. It made him feel so worthless, so guilty. He wanted to badly to corroborate her claim, to confirm that she indeed had a friend left in the world. Yet he couldn’t, simply because his mind was hollowing.

“N-no, it's just that... I can't remember anything... I'm sorry...”

Almost immediately, her face fell and he felt worse than he did in a long time. He watched how she looked at the flower. It gave him a moment to focus on his swirling thoughts, trying to still them or find something useful amidst the quagmire. His useless struggle didn’t go unnoticed by her and what she said next drove the point home. 

“You…You have lost your memories…”

That remark just about sent home the horrible realization he once again came to. “I... I suppose so... Perhaps it was from all that time in the asylum... Forgive me, Maiden Thorolund. It seems I'm not the person you thought I was. I-I should go. I'm sorry to have bothered you…”

With those words, and a healthy dose of embarrassment, he decided to turn around and leave. He nearly jumped when he suddenly felt someone grab his hand. He hadn’t even noticed that Rhea had risen from her spot. She held him tight and he could detect a sense of urgency in her body language.

“Wait… Would you like to know what you were like? Before you became Undead?”

The Chosen Undead could feel his eyes widen. To know one’s past again. How many Undead would give the world just to gain that little semblance of self? He knew he did. Even now, even amidst the wasteland that was Lordran, he was eager to know. If what Rhea said was true…

“C-could you really tell me that?”

Rhea nodded. “Why you don't you stay a bit longer? Sit here with me and I'll tell you.”

_Rhea was never fond of tourneys. Not really fond of social gatherings of any kind. A bad trait for a Thorolund, really. As one of the most prestigious families in the land, one that could trace their lineage all the way back to Allfather Lloyd and after whom the very country was named, their lives were the beating heart of government and high society. That required public appearances at nearly any political or festive event and as the youngest daughter, she was not exempt from this._

_Still, that did not mean she was well-suited for it. Unlike her older sisters, who were social butterflies that effortlessly flitted from one occasion to the other, she was a self-admitted wallflower. She liked to keep to herself, spending her time with quiet activities and found being dealing with large amounts of people a chore rather than a fun occasion. The only good thing about this particular tourney she was attending was that it would be the very last she would ever have to be present at._

_Within a few days, she would come of age and make her vows as a cleric of the Way of White. It had been her choice and her parents thankfully supported her, perhaps realizing she wouldn’t make as much of a marital asset as her sisters. Whatever their reason, Rhea was happy to soon transition to a calmer, more productive life as a traveling healer and holy woman. Until then, she would simply have to weather whatever social obligations came her way, including the tourney today._

_What a tourney it would be, as well. Today was the holy day of Allfather Lloyd, the Holy Man of all Gods and founder of the Way of White, and as befitting of a deity of his position, the festivities were no small matter. They were going to last all of five days, during which there would be banquets, entertainment in all forms and of course, melee and jousting. The latter two events both held a price of a thousand gold coins and naturally drew knights from all over Thorolund and far beyond its borders._

_Indeed, a vast array of colorful characters was already gathering at the tourney grounds. She could spot the renowned “onion knights” of Catarina, the legendary knights from Balder and the noble warriors from Astora. She could even spy the odd participant from Carim and a scant few from Zena or the East. So many people… The sheer thought made her uncomfortable._

_The moment she could, she had sneaked away to the stables. No doubt the last place in the world where anyone wanted her to be, but she was confident her radiant older sisters would keep anyone from noticing, as they always ensured. The fact that it was dirty and smelled meant little to her. She liked horses and just wanted to be somewhere quieter._

_Walking up to one of her family’s thoroughbreds and stroking its mane, she looked around. All she saw were several knights, their squires and stable hands running about. One of them seemed to be without any company, however, and seemed to be engaged in a futile argument with the stable master about borrowing a horse. Judging by his less than stellar appearance, she guessed he was likely a knight errant. A knight without a liege that offered his services here and there for money, little more than a mercenary. Still, as long as he wasn’t causing any trouble, he was free to come and go as he pleased._

_“Well, you are a long way from your escorts, Maiden Thorolund.”_

_The young noblewoman nearly jumped when she heard a voice behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her was a knight, dressed in ornate armor that unmistakably came from Carim. He clearly tried to sound friendly, but Rhea wasn’t convinced. The voice sounded like how she would imagine a snake sounded if it could speak. As such, she remained cautious._

_“So I am. What is it to you, Sir Knight?”_

_Clearly, her attitude rubbed the knight the wrong way. He was obviously drunk and he seemed like quite the dangerous drunk at that. She knew she had to watch her step and his ominous words indicated as much._

_“Little girls like you shouldn’t stray too far from their protectors. Bad things might happen to them…”_

_“I will keep it in mind. Now I beseech you to leave me be. I have personal matters to attend to.”_

_With that, she turned her back on him and turned her attention back to the horse. She hoped her words would make it clear that she was not to be intimidated and that he would leave her alone. That was, until she felt him grab her arm and jerk her back towards him to face him again. He looked furious and she knew then and there his ego or the drink was enough to set him off._

_“You think you can talk to me this way just because a noblewoman put you into this world. Well, think again, little girl! Without your guards and your admirers, you are no better than me and out here, there is no one to protect you just because you have the Thorolund name!”_

_Every word was laced with poison and Rhea instantly knew she had gotten herself in a dangerous situation. She tried to jerk loose from his grip, but he held on tight. Her mind started to race. She knew a few miracles, but they weren’t very powerful and perhaps it wouldn’t do anything but make him more angry. Right now, she doubted he needed very little to be provoked further._

_“Do you lack ears by any chance, my Lord?”_

_Another voice caught her attention. She turned in its direction and her eyes widened. The knight errant had interrupted his bargaining for a horse and came stomping towards her and the knight from Carim. The other man noticed him as well and send a growl his way._

_“What do you want?”_

_The knight errant didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped right in between them, forcing the other man to let go. Despite being notably smaller, and looking startlingly young without his helmet, he didn’t even flinch as he stared down the other man, his voice without a trace of humor._

_“She told you to leave her alone. Best listen to her.”_

_Obviously, his words didn’t sit well with the older man. “Or what? I don’t take orders from a whelp like you! Especially not some bedraggled knight errant from Astora, crawling here from an impoverished house of beggars like the Trevanions!”_

_The younger male wasn’t very impressed by the insults spat at him. “Oh, I am not telling you based on rank or privilege. I am telling you because I have a distaste for louts and drunks. Leave the girl alone or be willing to risk a drunken fight and limit your chances at this tournament. Your choice.”_

_Almost immediately, a nearby onion knight raised his glass and hollered excitedly. “Yes, you tell him! He acts out of line, he’ll be in quite a pickle indeed!”_

_Rhea quickly stifled a laugh behind her hand, only to quickly be brought back to reality by the situation at hand. The knight from Carim was seething and she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d try to fight the other man on the spot. She appreciated the fact he stood up for her, but he looked so young and frail. How much of a chance would he have against an older, more experienced knight?_

_After several tense moments, however, the man from Carim snorted and walked off. “Fine, you can have her. I will enjoy trouncing you for all the world to see at the tournament.”_

_Her defender didn’t respond and simply eyed the man until he was well out of sight, only then turning to her. “Are you alright?”_

_She nodded. “Y-yes, I am fine. You stepped in before anything could happen. You have my thanks for that.”_

_The knight smiled a little. “You are welcome. I couldn’t just let him harass anyone, Lady..?”_

_More than a little amused that he apparently had no idea who she was, she giggled. “Thorolund. Rhea of Thorolund. And you are from House Trevanion?”_

_He chuckled. “Yes. Youngest scion of a proud, but impoverished line. But Marcus will do.”_

_In response to his introduction, she gave him a polite bow. He mimicked the gesture, before looking around. Just as she wondered what they would do next, he spoke up._

_“So, you’re quite a distance away from the nobleman’s tents. Do I need to escort you back to your family or will you make it on your own?”_

“…Your family didn’t like me much, did they?”

The Chosen Undead spoke, before even realizing that he did. Some blurry images stirred within his memory. He recalled a girl beside him and people yelling at them, accusing him of things he didn’t do. What they said and what he said exactly, he couldn’t recall. All he could remember was him trying to explain that he had done nothing wrong.

Rhea stared at him briefly, before showing a smile. “So you do remember that… Yes, they distrusted you. When you brought me back to the tents, they were horrified to see you come in. They thought you had bad intentions. I had to explain to them several times that you had offered to walk me back after an altercation.”

He smiled a little, already having an inkling if where this went. “They still didn’t care much for me afterwards, no?” 

She sighed. “No. I had kind of hoped they would reward you in some manner, since you did keep me safe. But they didn’t. They gave me a scolding and then foisted you off with a brief thanks. I was so angry with them. Just because you were a knight errant, they had no right to treat you like that…”

The Chosen Undead shrugged. “It is quite alright. I no longer feel hurt about it.”

Rhea nodded, smiling a little. “At least it got you a horse. You told me back then that some bucket-helmet knight had apparently put in a good word for you after witnessing you protecting me and you got to borrow one for the jousting.”

“Well, that was something, at least…”

A short silence followed. He used that time to try and get his churning mind back under control. Yet despite knowing it might be easier, and less painful, to let the matter rest, he felt he couldn’t do that. He wanted to know more.

“So…at the tourney… What else happened? Did I see you again?”

She nodded. “Yes, we did...”


	2. Stories and Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chosen and Undead discuss how they spent their time alone.

_Being considered the daughter without many future prospects had its advantages. One of those was less supervision. Only now did Rhea fully realize that and she was happy to reap the benefits of it._

_She felt rather excited sneaking away from the crowds. She was usually a good, obedient daughter that didn’t even think about disobeying her parents. Still, there was something oddly exhilarating about being rebellious. Especially when she did it for all the right reasons._

_A quick glance into the other tents revealed that the person she was looking for wasn’t there and on instinct, she headed over to the stables. It wasn’t long before she indeed saw a familiar set of simple armor, lying in a pile of hay as if it were a bed. A smile came onto her face and she approached, soon coming face to face with the man she now knew as Marcus._

_He instantly noticed her and quickly got to his feet, giving her a polite nod. “Oh, Lady Thorolund! What brings you here?”_

_His friendly voice and boyish smile was enough to make her blush. “I-I want to apologize... For how my parents treated you… I know…I know it is not much of a reward, but…here you go…”_

_With that, she handed him the little package she brought with her. He hesitantly took it from her and looked inside. His face instantly drew into a heartfelt smile upon opening it._

_“Why, thank you! You must have gone through some trouble to get me food like this.”_

_She smiled shyly. “I took it from the kitchens. And it looked like you can’t afford much but stale bread and stew, so…”_

_She realized how insensitive that remark might sound, but the knight errant hardly seemed bothered. “Well, I appreciate your kindness, Lady Thorolund. Trust me when I say this reward is a suitable one.”_

_His genuine gratefulness quickly dispelled whatever awkwardness she might have felt and she felt deep crimson set into her cheeks. Even so, a silence started to form between them that was most uncomfortable. Being a sheltered person, she had little idea of how to talk to men, not even to boys like him, and yet, she couldn’t yet bear to leave yet. Her mind quickly scrambled for a new topic of conversation and by some miracle, she found one._

_“So, I notice you stay out here at the stables and not at the knights’ tents. May I ask why?”_

_He gave her a strange look and she felt herself get even redder. “I-I am sorry. I should not be so nosy…”_

_She was already planning to walk away when he simply shook his head with a smile. “No, it’s fine to ask. I simply like to be by myself. Besides, most other knights don’t look too fondly upon a knight errant, so they don’t make for much company. I intend to go to the nearby lake later on. It’s beautiful this time of night.”_

_“Oh… Oh, if you say so…”_

_Almost immediately, he gave her a surprised look. She didn’t blame him. Most would assume she had seen a lot of the immediate sights in her own homeland. She found herself even more embarrassed now and was practically stuttering with each word of her explanation._

_“I…I have never really been at the lake. I…do not really go anywhere without my family.”_

_Marcus briefly stared at her before smiling. “I see. Well, you are welcome to come along if you want. That is, if it’s appropriate for someone like to me to invite you…”_

_As soon as he said that, she could see he was blushing as well. She stifled a giggle at the mere sight of it. Despite being a knight, he was still a boy, not much older than her, and just as awkward in dealing with the opposite sex as she was. That and his earlier selfless behavior in scaring off her harasser made it easy enough to accept his invitation._

_“I see no harm in it. I’d love to see the lake with you. If you would have me for company, that is…”_

_Instantly, the knight errant chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t suggest it if I disliked you, would I? Though before we go…”_

_He got up and approached her. He took his cloak, carrying the colors of his house, and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was rough spun and the fur on it looked somewhat worn, but it was nonetheless very comfortable if not a bit big for her. She could feel his heat on it and smell his scent on it. She found neither sensation was unpleasant at all. Still, she looked up at him with surprise._

_“To hide your finery from people with bad intentions. And to keep you warm. The nights can get quite cold away from the fire.”_

_“Ah…”_

_She was quite certain her face resembled a red apple by now. Even so, she nodded happily and took his offered hand. In response, Marcus picked up his knapsack and gave her a polite bow, smiling brightly._

_“Shall we go then, Milady?”_

_The knight errant had clearly not been lying. The lake was indeed one of the most beautiful things she had seen in her lifetime. The image of the silver moon reflecting upon the calm, dark water, surrounded by giant oaks and willows. The area was quiet, save for the sound of a thousand nightingales singing their songs in the trees. It looked like a scene straight from one of her books and she could only stand there looking at it in awe. Her companion was quick to notice her entrancement and gave her a worried glance._

_“Are you alright?”_

_She quickly nodded. “Yes… Yes, I am fine. It is just…so beautiful... I cannot believe I have never seen this place before…”_

_“Well, for everything, there is a first. I personally prefer it here. It’s nice and quiet and the view is breathtaking. Also, it reminds me of home.”_

_He moved over to a nearby fallen tree trunk and sat on it, quietly staring at the beautiful surroundings. Rhea took her seat beside him, joining him in quiet appreciation. She let out a sigh, her breath visible in the cold night air. She snuggled deeper into the cloak he had given her, feeling comfortably warm and at ease. She leaned him a little bit for additional heat and he didn’t seem to mind._

_The two of them remained silent for a long while, listening to the sounds of the nightingales and the wind softly blowing through the trees. She just watched the lake reflect the starry sky above, the water rippling with the slightest breeze. There was something incredibly peaceful about it and she happily took in every second of it._

_This was very different from her usual experiences interacting with people. All her life, she had been taught she had to be social. Always smile. Always look graceful. Always know what to say. As a shy girl who didn’t get along with people easily, she resented always having to be able to talk to someone. This was the first time she found someone she could be quiet with._

_As they sat together, taking in the view in perfect silence, she thought about what he had told her earlier. He said this place reminded him of home. It didn’t surprise her. She had been to Astora a few times and it was one of the most beautiful areas she had ever seen._

_Still, she realized, she had only ever seen it as a guest in the homes of rich and influential lords and ladies. The Trevanions, the family he apparently belonged to, had only ever been mentioned in passing, often as a line whose pride was not matched by the contents of their coffers. A none to flattering description and she wondered how much it held up to the reality._

_“Marcus? What is your home like?”_

_The knight errant opened his eyes and looked at her, chuckling. “Well, it doesn’t hold a candle to the palace of the Thorolunds or most keeps, for one. It’s more of an old, small villa than a castle, but to me, it’s where I grew up quite happily.”_

_She nodded, feeling the obvious fondness in his voice. “Can you describe it?”_

_“Well, it is made of white stone and it has a roof made from blue tiles. It’s built in such a way that it remains warm during winters and cool during summers. It’s near a beautiful lake, filled with bass. Naturally, our family therefore knows at least a hundred recipes with bass as the main ingredient…”_

_She laughed at that last remark, perhaps a bit too loudly. An image popped into her head of the mother of the family constantly offering endless plates of bass to her husband and children each and every day, met with faces that showed increasing distaste. No wonder he was so excited some of the food she snuck him was actual meat._

_“Anyway, my siblings and I used to build boats out of wooden crates, skip stones and swim there during the summers. In winter, we would strap some iron underneath our boots and glide across the thick layer of ice that would form on the lake. During fall, the trees turn beautiful shades of red, yellow and orange and during spring, there are wildflowers as far the eye can see…”_

_Rhea didn’t bother to interrupt him. How could she? Just hearing him talk like this, with so much fondness and nostalgia, she couldn’t bear to tell him to stop. She simply watched him, listening while resting her head in her hands._

_It felt wonderful to have him describe his home to her. The way he told it, she felt she was right there. She could see the villa, old and worn but inviting and cozy. She could imagine every room, filled with old keepsakes and dusty badges of honor. She envisioned the lake, blue like a sapphire and filled to the brim with the glistening scales of bass. The images his words evoked were enchanting and for a moment, she wished she could really be there, in such a simple but idyllic place._

_“I’m sorry. I must be boring you with all of this…”_

_She almost cringed at his apologetic tone. “N-No, not at all. I like hearing you talk about your home. You sound like it’s the world to you.”_

_He chuckled. “It is. I hope to go back there again soon…”_

_A small frown worked her way onto her face. “You have been away for that long?”_

_“Three years, ever since I was knighted at age fifteen. Unlike most, I was never a page or squire; I earned my rank on the battlefield. The lord who knighted me, Sir Barric, died during that same three-day battle. Since then, I have been traveling, earning my coin by offering my services, so I can support my family.”_

_Snuggling deeper into his cloak, she nodded. “That makes sense. I do not know much about your family, but the one thing I always hear repeated about House Trevanion is that they are poor.”_

_Instantly, he laughed. “Things are slowly improving since we got into trading, but it's no use denying it. Have a careless grandfather with a gambling debt and a family has little left besides their name and heirlooms whose value is only sentimental. Still, we are not an unhappy family. Never were. My parents married for love and devoted their lives to their children. Wealth buys security, but not that kind of affection.”_

_“You are right about that…”_

_She noticed how his blue eyes gave her a sideways glance, studying her quietly. Realizing she had said too much, she looked away. A lady of her position couldn’t exactly speak ill of her family without it having dire consequences. Still, now and then her true feelings did manage to slip through the cracks. A fact he had obviously caught on to._

_“I take it you and your family are not very close?”_

_His careful, nonjudgmental tone had her relax somewhat and seeing how he hadn’t shamed her trust so far, she figured she might as well be honest for once. “Not really. My parents love us, I am certain of that. But we are as much their children as we are the future of their dynasty. That comes with a lot of…expectations…”_

_He didn’t interrupt her and she continued. “I think you may have caught on I’m not the most interesting Thorolund sister. I kind of blend into the background, much to my mother’s disappointment. Lords, dukes and counts do not take much notice of me when they can have girls as pretty, graceful or sophisticated as my sisters instead…”_

_She noticed how her stomach turned as she said that. She swallowed to keep the tears burning behind her eyes from coming out. There were a lot of times where she didn’t feel particularly good about herself, especially when compared to her sisters. She knew she couldn’t change herself and frankly, she wouldn’t want to either, but it sometimes hurt a lot that she could not live up to the expectations her siblings passed with flying colors._

_“They seem like a dime a dozen to me.”_

_That sentence had Rhea’s mouth fall open. She blinked once, twice, as that sentence was spoken so casually and without a trace of irony and she could only stare at him incredulously. She had never heard anyone speak anything but praise about her older sisters. That someone would actually consider them anything other than desirable was an almost alien notion to her._

_Marcus noticed her shocked look, letting out an awkward snicker. “Well, I’m probably not the best judge of noblewomen and for all I know, they are the nicest people on this earth. But to me, they come across like any other noblewoman I’ve seen on my travels. Having the same traditional beauty, practicing the same socially acceptable hobbies, speaking about the same politically correct subjects… I’d personally want a little more out of a companion.”_

_As he talked, Rhea quietly allowed herself a little giggle. This knight errant was indeed not like most people she met. His lack of status or riches didn’t seem to bother him and he didn’t appear impressed with the things most noblemen would find worthy of admiration. It was a rather welcome change and feeling particularly brave and at ease with him, she decided she wanted to learn more about him._

_“Do you have one such person, Marcus?”_

_A laugh was her response. “No. Seeing my current situation, I do not have much time to meet women of any kind. I will probably not until I make some form of fortune. Even a knight makes a poor match when all he possesses is a sword, a shield, his armor and a lute.”_

_That last remark had her look up. “A lute?”_

_He scratched the back of his neck, appearing somewhat embarrassed as he stared at his knapsack. “A way for me to pass the time. Sometimes to earn a few quick coins for my supper. I am no bard, but definitely from Astora all the way through.”_

_“Can you…play me something?”_

_Rhea turned red all over again, but unlike before, she didn’t feel like taking anything back. She wanted to hear him play. Even if it was terrible, she liked his company. Besides, if he could occasionally fetch a coin for it, he likely wasn’t as terrible as the musical talents of the family jester._

_“Are you sure? I am sure there are better musicians than me at the Thorolund estate…”_

_She nodded. “Probably, but I want to hear you play. So please, Marcus?”_

_She tried to give him her sweetest, most winning smile. Likely not very successfully, but it nonetheless worked. Her companion burst out laughing, but there was no scorn or ridicule on his face. He simply reached over and took his lute out of the bag._

_“Alright then, I will indulge you. A song for the Maiden Thorolund.”_

_He put the instrument on his lap, tuned the strings and ran his fingers across them to test the sound. “Any special requests?”_

_“A song from your home, if you can.”_

_He gave her a small nod. She watched how he turned his attention to the instrument, pausing briefly to think of a tune. He started to strum it and much to her surprise, took a deep breath and started to sing._

_His voice was unlike what she expected of him. It was indeed not that of a bard of a trained musician, but it was anything but ugly. It was a little raw, but in tune and beautiful in its simplicity. There was a strange passion and genuineness to it, a real longing as he sang a song about his homeland and its history. It was strength and vulnerability all in one and without her realizing it, it moved her to tears._

“I think I sang The Vanquished Beast of Astora… It was one of my favorite songs…”

Almost immediately, Rhea smiled and nodded and with her confirmation, he could feel the vague images in his head a little clearer again. It was really strange, the Chosen Undead realized. Just what little details he could still recall with the proper prompting. 

His companion wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “It was really nice to hear you sing. Your voice and the song were beautiful. I cry just thinking about it.”

“Well, you sang too, I think…”

He was surprised that he now dared to state things out loud. Of course, he wasn’t certain. Still, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he could remember a female singing voice. It was soft and high-pitched, more girlish than womanly, yet fragile and beautiful. It reminded him distinctly of Rhea’s voice and it evoked a pleasant sense of familiarity. 

Much to his happiness, Rhea nodded and he noted she was blushing. “You asked me if I could sing something as well... I was so embarrassed… My governess told me I was not cut out for singing…”

Marcus shook his head, smiling at the sliver of a memory he had. “Don’t be. I recall you had a lovely voice. It sounds like we enjoyed each other’s company over there at the lake.”

The smile on her face was all he needed for an answer. It was infectious, he had to admit, and very welcome. Out here, amidst the crumbling ruins of Lordran, it was so rare to feel anything other than sheer desperation. To be here with someone he could trust, to experience some happiness or simply to remember it, was indescribable.

To remember.

When was the last time the things in his head made sense? He didn’t even know anymore, all of it lost in constant death, hollowing and an infinity locked up in an asylum. It was enough to sadden him all over again, weren’t it for the fact that he knew tears were useless at this point.

Instead, he decided, he wanted to latch on to any memory he could. He knew who he was, where he came from and above all, his history with this woman. Even if he would remember nothing else, he wanted to be able to recall this. For his own sake as well as hers. So he decided to inquire further, going by whatever small memories stood out to him.

“That was not the only night we met, was it?”

Rhea shook her head. “No. We spent every evening of the festivities together. I would sneak away from my parents come nightfall, meet you at the stables. You would let me your cloak and we would go off together. We mostly stayed at the lake, telling each other stories, playing songs and you taught me skipping stones. I would often bring you food too.”

He smiled, a set of tastes and smells returning to his mind. “You even brought me quail one evening. I never ate that before, so that taste stuck with me, I guess.”

“You treated me to some food as well. Some strange broth with vegetables, mushrooms and edible strings that a merchant from the East sold. It was really good though. We ate it when we went into the city that last night. We spent that night looking at the stalls, watching the entertainers and playing some of the games.”

She was probably correct. He remembered lights, stalls, food and the laughs of a companion who seemed enchanted by all of it. A cloaked figure dancing to the music, laughing and clapping at every sight as if it was the first time she ever witnessed it. One thing that stood out to him in particular was an image of several makeshift benches and a small stage.

“I recall that we saw some play too. One of those typical commoner plays filled with crude humor and double meanings.”

Loud giggles reached his ears upon saying that. “ _The Many Lovers of the Sunlight Princess_. I was blushing and squealing at every bawdy joke. Never laughed so much in my life though.”

Despite himself, he felt a smirk creep up his lips at that followed by a smile. He didn’t know if she realized, but hearing her talk about their time together lifted his spirits tremendously. Often times, when he allowed himself to breathe easy for just a second, he wondered what he was like in his previous life. It was good to know that at least he had made one person he met happy, however briefly.

Yet, amidst the fragments of the past dancing in his head, there was one thing that stood out to him. Something that he wasn’t sure belonged there at all. After all, based on the history between them as Rhea told it, it just didn’t seem to make sense. He felt embarrassed to ask, but seeing how there was nothing to lose as two lost Undead, he might as well. 

“I probably misremember entirely, but…did we kiss at some point?”

Much to his surprise, Rhea smiled broadly. “No, you remember correctly.”


	3. The Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhea and Marcus remember the last day of the tourney and things that could never be.

_On the last day of the tourney, Rhea had become increasingly bold. She had enough faith in her ability to sneak away from her family that she no longer even waited until nightfall. An hour or so before the melee was about to commence, she sneaked off to the stables once more._

_Just as she had hoped, Marcus was there once more. The knight was polishing and repairing his armor, as well as his longsword. The weapon looked average and a bit worn like the rest of his possessions, yet the blade still seemed frighteningly sharp. No doubt that thing would be his weapon of choice this afternoon…_

_She didn’t speak up as she approached him and it appeared she didn’t have to. He noticed her almost immediately. Instantly, he smiled and set his sword beside him, giving her his full attention._

_“Well, you are certainly taking more risks now, visiting me during the day.”_

_Noting the humor in his voice, she smiled. “I just wanted to wish you luck for later. You are going to join the tournament today, are you not?”_

_He nodded. “I am. The melee one. I decided to forgo the jousting since I am not nearly as skilled at that. Besides, that one bucket-helmet knight seems like a nice enough fellow in private, but he is vicious with anything resembling a spear when a fight is involved. I pity the fools willing to face him.”_

_Instantly knowing which man he meant, she could only agree with him. Making sure no one was around to see them, she handed him a small package. He took it from her, already knowing what it was. He looked inside, grinning._

_“Venison, huh? That must not have been easy to get your hands on.”_

_She simply gave him a smirk. “You would be surprised. Anyway, you should eat up, make sure you are at the peak of your strength at tourney. There are some fierce competitors.”_

_He happily heeded her advice, tearing off part of the meat and putting it in his mouth. “Sounds about right. Will you be watching too?”_

_“Yes, as will the rest of the family. Royalty cannot miss the main events.”_

_He didn’t miss her utter sarcasm in that last line. If there was one thing in this world she didn’t care for, it was tourneys. They were just a glorification of war for those who never truly fought, allowing a bunch of cocky, highborn men to believe that they indeed had actual skill with a weapon. That and to make noblewomen perhaps look somewhat more favorably at an arranged marriage because of it. At least Marcus fought because he truly needed the money…_

_It was almost as if he could read her thoughts. “Well, I better give you a good show then. Make sure this tourney is one for you to remember, Rhea.”_

_She rolled her eyes yet let out a little chuckle. “We’re not trying to go unnoticed in the city this time, Marcus. You can call me by my title._

_He smiled a little. “Yes, but all your sisters are called Lady Thorolund as well. I like your name and I like you, so I prefer calling you by that, if you don’t mind…”_

_Within moments, Rhea’s cheeks started to match the shell of a lobster. She looked around once more, making sure no one else could witness it. Still, she couldn’t help but like what he told her. After a lifetime of being ignored in favor of her sisters, it was nice to hear someone say that she was worth getting to know._

_That, she figured, was probably why she liked Marcus. Even though he was only here to fight in the tourney for money and she likely wouldn’t ever see him again, he was kind to her. He appreciated her for what she was and wanted nothing more than her company for however long he was here. That was more than most people gave her and it was something she would never forget._

_She watched how he finished his meal, put the sword in his sheath and started to strap into his armor. She walked up and helped him the best she could and he didn’t stop her, clearly valuing the assistance. Soon, every little plate and strap was back in place and she picked up his helmet._

_He reached out to take it from her, but before he could she decided to act on that little twinge inside her belly. She pulled the helmet back, but just as he gave her a strange look and wanted to ask for the armor piece, she took her chance. She leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips._

_The look on Marcus’s face was priceless. He stared at her as if he had been whacked in the face with a mace, only for his cheeks to turn a bright crimson. He clearly had no idea what to do with her little gesture, an clear indicator that his claimed inexperience with women was indeed true. She simply smiled at him, still blushing._

_“That was for good luck.”_

_The knight errant blinked at her for a moment. Then, a large grin spread across his face. He took the helmet from her when she offered it and give her a winning smile, clearly indicated he didn’t mind her affection. He put it over his head, ready for the tourney to commence._

_“Thank you. I will fight a good battle. I can promise you that.”_

_A small giggle left her mouth. “I will eagerly await it.”_

_Just like everything the Thorolund family put their wealth behind, the last day of the festivities went entirely according to plan. Promptly at noon, the melee started and after a short introduction by the game master, the first two parties were introduced. An onion knight from Catarina and a blond, gaunt and gloomy looking knight from Astora. Both exchanged a small bow out of courtesy and then, at the game master’s signal, the melee began._

_Soon, the arena was awash with the sound of clashing steel and the cheers of the audience. The two men fought like their lives depended on it. They slashed and bashed, dodged and rolled. They circled each other like dogs ready to tear each other apart and after an endless rain of blows from both sides, one of them finally had to give way._

_Finally, the knight from Astora was left in the dust and the onion knight was declared the victor of that round. Rhea simply gave him a mandatory applause, as was expected of a lady of her station, but she quickly found herself peering to the side of the arena. There was only one fighter she was really interested in and much to her delight, he was announced as partaking in the next match._

_Her face lit up when she saw him enter the arena. Most people didn’t care much, clearly not very interested in a knight without renown participating in their esteemed event. Still, to her, he was a sight for sore eyes. Someone to genuinely cheer for in such a superficial activity._

_Her sense of joy at seeing him, however, swiftly faded when she saw who his opponent was. The knight from Carim, who had harassed her several days ago, entered the arena as well. He stalked in there like a rampaging monster, making a beeline straight for the younger man. Even though he wore a helmet, she could practically feel the glares he shot Marcus. Clearly, he had not forgotten the earlier altercation and was dying to take a swing at him._

_Watching the two knights square off, Rhea could feel her stomach turn. Once again, she noted just how out of place her friend looked among everyone here. His young age and comparatively worn armor stood out immensely. He looked like a fox kit amongst wolves and from the looks of it, the one before him was eager to rip him to shreds._

_Then, the signal sounded. Almost instantly, the knight from Carim struck the first blow. Marcus only barely had time to move out of the way and kept scrambling as his adversary continued with a barrage of swipes from his shotels. The older knight was swift and aggressive but above all, he was truly out for blood._

_The audience obviously loved the spectacle. They cheered and laughed, bets were made along the way and many of them were all too vocal in expressing their favor. She could hear a few shout at the knight from Carim to destroy “the beggar knight”, to teach the “highborn mercenary” a lesson and to “show him the error of competing in a match against true warriors”._

_Every word they screamed caused Rhea’s anger to steadily rise. How dare they? How dare they speak about him in such a way? These lords and ladies, who had never raised a weapon in their lives, thought they had the right to speak ill of the kind of man they’d hire themselves to do their dirty deeds. Their disdain, especially towards one of the kindest people she had ever met, disgusted and she could only cringe at the thought that this was how he’d leave the tourney._

_She bit her lip, only able to watch as Marcus continued to fight against the onslaught of blows. He was mostly on the defense, using his shield to block most of the time while trying to stand his ground. His defensive approach only served to make his opponent angrier and he intensified his attacks, meanwhile calling him the worst things under the sun as the crowd egged him on._

_Yet as the blows continued to rain down, Rhea started to realize that perhaps, Marcus was not as much at a disadvantage as she thought. In fact, the timing of his blocking was near impeccable and only became more so the longer he fought. He moved in time, held up his shield at the precise moment his adversary went for a swipe and danced around him with terrifying ease._

_It was only then Rhea realized what he was planning on. He wasn’t in distress at all. He was biding his time._

_Eventually, the knight from Carim couldn’t keep up his aggressive momentum. His movements slowed somewhat and she swore she could hear him pant. Still, he was arrogant enough to keep pressing forward, seemingly convinced that if he kept at it long enough, he could take his enemy down._

_It was then that the knight errant struck. Just as the man planned to land another blow, he charged. He swung his longsword, hitting the man square in the chest. His armor prevented the blow from being lethal, but it was enough to stagger him. Marcus happily made use of it, staying on the offense and forcing the man back with trained precision. It was clear the knight of Carim was not used to defend and the younger man expertly made use of it._

_One small mistake was all it took. A last desperate flail left the older knight’s face open and Marcus leaped forward, bashing his shield against his helmet. The force of it was immense and the knight of Carim instantly toppled backwards, lying in the dust motionless._

_The moment he fell, the crowd grew silent and Rhea found herself among them. It was clear the knight wasn’t dead, but it was still shocking to see that Marcus had managed to knock him out. She watched how he was dragged away from the arena by a couple of squires, before turning back to Marcus who stood there quietly, waiting to be pronounced the winner of the skirmish._

_While she had assumed her newfound companion was a decent fighter, she had never expected him to be this capable. There was a practiced ease in his movement and a level of strategy most noble born fighters lacked. He didn’t fight like a knight; he fought like a well-trained soldier and that, she realized, would make him an extremely powerful participant in a tourney where most people merely fenced for leisure._

_Clearly, that realization did not please the audience. She could already hear the beginnings of jeers coming from their mouths, the anger of being beaten at their own games apparent. The immaturity of it was enough to finally put her over the edge and deciding to stick her neck out for once, she threw caution to the wind._

_She stood up and cheered._

_Instantly, she felt all eyes on her. Her parents, sisters and all of the crowd stared at her, with a mix of bafflement and indignation. Normally, those alone would have cowed her into silence again, but now, she couldn’t care less. She cared for Marcus and she was going to publically support him without shame. What everyone else thought of it was unimportant to her. The knight errant was her friend and one of the finest warriors she had ever seen. He had a chance to win this tourney and she was willing to rub that in everyone’s face in any way she could._

_That suspicion was proven correctly as the tourney continued. Dozens of competitors came and went, the list of participants narrowing down with each skirmish. Marcus survived through all of his and each fight was a sight to behold._

_Rhea watched with utmost admiration how he fought his way through a wide variety of opponents. His skirmish with an Eastern warrior was an elegant dance of blades. He was quick to counter the excellent parry attempts of the onion knight. He matched the elegant fencing techniques of Prince Ricard stroke for stroke. A famous warrior paladin couldn’t even lay a hit on him with his giant Warhammer. Even the Knight of Thorns and Iron Tarkus, longtime favorites and champions of several tourneys, fell to his unusual skills and with every victory, she cheered louder and more support emerged._

_Still, with every fight won, a sense of dread also crept up to her. There was another who also won every match he was in. A legendary man, confidante to Lord Gwyn himself, whose armor was made of pure stone. Havel the Rock was a fierce and skilled man and above all, he was dangerous._

_That knowledge worried Rhea to no end. While Havel was by no means evil, he was immensely strong. As a general in Gwyn’s army, he was a trained fighter and when he partook in tournaments, it wasn’t uncommon for his opponents to have to be carried out of the area. His warhammer, made from the tooth of a fallen dragon, was a fearsome weapon and she dreaded the very thought of Marcus being potentially caught underneath it._

_Indeed, her greatest fear became a reality. After hours of fighting, hours of skirmishes, only two were left standing. Havel and Marcus. Theirs was to be the final match of the day. The final battle over that prize of a thousand golden coins._

_After the customary bow, both warriors took their positions and at the staring signal of the game master, they clashed. Havel’s first move was immediate and deliberate, merely meant as a way of testing the waters. The knight errant moved right away, easily avoiding the gigantic warhammer. It was the beginning of an arduous fight and both combatants seemed well aware of it._

_Every single soul watched and held their breath as the two men clashed. By now, most of them were wise enough not to underestimate the knight errant and Rhea could hear that not everyone was as confident in placing bets. That brought her a small amount of satisfaction, but it was soon lost in the fear and anticipation as she could do nothing but watch and wait._

_Marcus gave as good as he got against the general of the Gods. Making excellent use of his speed and shield, he kept moving and blocking as the might dragon’s tooth bore down on him again and again. Occasionally, he made a swipe of his own, only for it to bounce off the man’s rocklike armor and rapidly move out of the way of a retaliatory swing. This exchange of blows seemed to take forever and a few times, Rhea nearly wanted to scream as the larger warrior missed her companion by only an inch._

_Obviously, the intense battle was taking its toll on both of them. After a while, she could practically hear both combatants pant from where she sat. Their movements were getting slower and more strained. It was clear the knight errant had taken the brunt of it, however, and Rhea could feel her heart cease to beat as the general approached confidently._

_Then, out of nowhere, she saw her companion pull himself together. He straightened his back. Then, without warning, his started running straight at his opponent. Rhea could only gasp as the general of the gods readied his weapon, lifting his weapon high above his head, then bringing it down when the much smaller knight was within range._

_Havel hit the shield straight on and as soon as the dragon tooth hit the metal, Marcus parried. The sudden move staggered the larger knight and left him wide open. One swift strike was all it took and within seconds, one of the most deadly knights Rhea had ever witnessed was flat on his back in the dirt, with the small, young knight errant standing over him._

_For a moment, it was dead quiet as a wave of shock swept across all the onlookers. All eyes were on Marcus as he looked across his fallen opponent. No one was certain on what to do, whether to cheer or jeer or to continue looking on. The seemingly impossible had happened and no one knew how to respond to it._

_Just then, Marcus held out his hand to Havel. It was a friendly, respectful gesture, from one knight to another, to help him back up. An acknowledgement of honor and fair play that these people so valued and it made all the difference._

_It was only then that people started to applaud. First a few, then it spread across the entire audience. They cheered and raved and threw flowers as Havel gratefully took his opponent’s hand and rose to his feet again, more than happy to acknowledge the younger man’s victory. Then and there, the melee part of the tourney was over and, against all odds, Marcus had emerged victorious._

_Rhea couldn’t be anything else but overcome with joy. Then and there, she forgot her place and got up from the seats reserved for her and her family. She rushed to the front of the crowd until she got to the barrier separating them from the arena. There, she stood and chanted his name, not showing the slightest bit of shame or care for supporting someone like him._

_Almost immediately, the knight errant took note of her. He turned towards her, taking off his helmet. He then put one foot in front of the other, ignoring all else as he walked towards her. Halfway through, he took notice of the flowers that were thrown at his feet. He stooped down to pick one of them up, a beautiful lily white as snow, and then continued his track to the barrier. There, he handed it over to her, smiling genuinely._

_Almost immediately, she could see the people closest to her stare incredulously at the display. She could feel the gazes of her parents and especially her sisters burn into her back. Nobody saw it coming that this lowly wandering knight would make his affections known and least of all for their wallflower of a daughter and sister._

_An overwhelming heat bit into her cheeks, yet she could not find it in her to feel ashamed. Why should she? All her life, she had lived in the shadows, not living up to the desires and expectations of others. Let her have the limelight just for once before she took on the quiet life of a cleric. Let her for once be the one someone fought a tourney for, even if it was only a friend she would likely never see again…_

_It was the ongoing chaos this little act on Marcus’s part caused that allowed her to slip away once more. As always, she found her dear companion at the stable, saddling the horse the stable master had agreed to borrow him. Deep in his pocket were the thousand golden coins he had earned, but his apparent good mood only increased when he saw her approach._

_“Rhea! I was hoping I’d see you one last time...”_

_His unexpected happiness had her blush once more. “Well, I wanted to say goodbye… It felt right, after spending these last few days together…”_

_He laughed in response. “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. You certainly made this a memorable tourney for me and I wanted to thank you for all your good care.”_

_She nodded, feeling shy about his generous compliments. “So what will you do now?”_

_“I will head home to Astora and give this money to my family. It should help a great deal in alleviating their debts. After that, I will likely roam some more, looking for my fortune until I can return home for good…”_

_“I wish you much luck on your journey, Marcus. And I thank you kindly for spending time with me. I hope you will find what you are looking for.”_

_With those words she bowed slightly, but this time, Marcus didn’t respond with the same gesture. Instead, he stepped up to her, so fast that it practically startled her. She froze over, but before she could even think of asking him what he was doing, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a chaste but affectionate kiss. Her entire face broke out into red spots and a pleasant feeling settled in her stomach, a feeling that only increased when she looked upon his smiling face._

_“I’m glad to have met you, Rhea. Farewell. Your company was a wonderful one.”_

_Having said this, he finally moved away from her. It left her feeling cold and a little forlorn, but she knew he had to go and only gave him a polite smile. He mounted his horse and with a final friendly nod, he rode off._

_Standing there, watching his back as he left, Rhea felt true sadness. A few days ago, she had been all but certain of her future life of a cleric. Now, the girl in her wished there had been other options. If someone like Marcus would have courted her, she would have gladly accepted. She would have been glad to give up her current life and have a quiet simple one with a husband she liked and a close-knit family. She would have been happy, in that old, small villa there at the lake…_

_Still, she was old and wise enough to know that could never be. Her parents would never allow her to marry into a poor house of knights. They’d rather let her live out her days alone as a cleric before they would accept what they’d consider such a poor match, even for their wallflower of a daughter. This was indeed the best she was even going to get, but she was determined to never forget the companion who had made her feel special, if only for a few days…_

“I don’t know if I ever made it home…”

Those words passed the Chosen Undead’s lips before he thoroughly realized it. Indeed, as hard as he thought on it, he could not recall anything beyond the tournament. That part of his life was now clear as day, the disjointed pieces put back into a full picture where everything made sense. Yet as hard as he tried, he couldn’t recall anything before or after.

He could see of Rhea’s face fell. “I am sorry.”

Her sad tone cut him right through the heart. He hated seeing her this sad and now he knew why. This was someone he cared about when he was still human, someone that alleviated his loneliness when he led the life of a wanderer. The memory of her and her effect on him was so strong that he had felt compelled to make her happy, even when he could no longer remember her name or face. That had to count for something and he wanted her to know that above all else. 

“Please don’t be. I am glad I at least remember you now. That I made someone happy in life, however briefly. And that I know understand that why I’m around you, I don’t feel alone. We all need friends and old, fleeting ones are as good as any.”

Those words caused her to smile through her tears and the Chosen Undead realized just how beautiful she looked. She was truly befitting of a cleric from the stories, he realized. Fair, modest and compassionate, even when cursed with the Darksign. Whoever he was before, he was glad he had somehow managed to make a friend in her and have her remember him so fondly. 

Feeling the need to express this gratitude, he took her hand with a smile. “Thank you for telling me all this, Lady Thorolund. It means a lot of me.”

Her face turned bright red and she shyly turned her brown eyes away. “Please, Marcus… Just call me Rhea. And when you have time, please come back to me and let us speak of miracles. So that even in these ruins, we will not be alone.”

The Chosen Undead could feel his heart swell a little at that. He was glad to have found her here. This sweet little cleric who shared in the undead curse same as him. This ghost of his past, who cared for him once upon a time and filled him with a purpose other than mere survival. Her memories of him were worth more than gold or souls. Amidst all the death, decay and desperation, there was still something good to be found. 

He went to sit down beside her. She didn’t protest at all, giving him a curious look. He simply smiled, feeling at ease for the first time he could remember. 

“I will return to you, Rhea. I promise. But for now, just let me stay a little while longer…”


End file.
